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"
And
this
young
man
is
-
"
"
Not
my
son
,
assuredly
.
"
Heathcliff
smiled
again
,
as
if
it
were
rather
too
bold
a
jest
to
attribute
the
paternity
of
that
bear
to
him
.
"
My
name
is
Hareton
Earnshaw
,
"
growled
the
other
;
"
and
I
'd
counsel
you
to
respect
it
!
"
"
I
've
shown
no
disrespect
,
"
was
my
reply
,
laughing
internally
at
the
dignity
with
which
he
announced
himself
.
He
fixed
his
eye
on
me
longer
than
I
cared
to
return
the
stare
,
for
fear
I
might
be
tempted
either
to
box
his
ears
or
render
my
hilarity
audible
.
I
began
to
feel
unmistakably
out
of
place
in
that
pleasant
family
circle
.
The
dismal
spiritual
atmosphere
overcame
,
and
more
than
neutralised
,
the
glowing
physical
comforts
round
me
;
and
I
resolved
to
be
cautious
how
I
ventured
under
those
rafters
a
third
time
.
The
business
of
eating
being
concluded
,
and
no
one
uttering
a
word
of
sociable
conversation
,
I
approached
a
window
to
examine
the
weather
.
A
sorrowful
sight
I
saw
:
dark
night
coming
down
prematurely
,
and
sky
and
hills
mingled
in
one
bitter
whirl
of
wind
and
suffocating
snow
.
"
I
do
n't
think
it
possible
for
me
to
get
home
now
without
a
guide
,
"
I
could
not
help
exclaiming
.
"
The
roads
will
be
buried
already
;
and
,
if
they
were
bare
,
I
could
scarcely
distinguish
a
foot
in
advance
.
"
"
Hareton
,
drive
those
dozen
sheep
into
the
barn
porch
.
They
'll
be
covered
if
left
in
the
fold
all
night
:
and
put
a
plank
before
them
,
"
said
Heathcliff
.
"
How
must
I
do
?
"
I
continued
,
with
rising
irritation
.
